


Pocket

by ticklishraspberries



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, J.D. Is Touch-Starved, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23478349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishraspberries/pseuds/ticklishraspberries
Summary: Veronica was just reaching for the cigarettes in his pocket, really. But what she found was even better.
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 112





	Pocket

She had just been reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, honestly.

But the way that J.D’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed her wrist and pushed it away left her stunned for a moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

For a moment, Veronica worried that she’d hurt him. She knew that he was much more familiar with pain than he was gentleness, and she would hate to do something that caused him any more of it. 

But, to her surprise, he seemed almost flustered by his own reaction, his own brow crinkled, confused, and his cheeks glowing just the tiniest bit, that no one else probably would have noticed, but she did.

“M’fine, you just startled me,” he replied. “You coulda just asked.”

He reached into his own shirt and pulled out the pack, offering her one, as well as his lighter.

“Sorry,” she said, accepting the cigarette and putting it between her lips. She stopped before she lit it though, turning her body to face him fully. “Scared you, huh? I mean, my arm was totally in your line of vision the whole time. I thought I hurt you.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me. As I said, it was stupid, so just let it go and smoke your damn cig.”

She tilted her head at him like an adorable, curious puppy. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and a smirk began curling on her lips.

He gave her a look, almost like a warning, or maybe a dare. “What are you starin’ at?”

“You’re ticklish,” she said. She didn’t ask, she simply stated it.

J.D huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head. “You really don’t give up, do you Sawyer?” he asked.

Instead of answering his rhetorical question, she darted out her hand and tickled his ribs, watching the way he steeled his jaw and swatted at her hand.

“You totally are!” she cried. It was almost too good to be true. Her rough-and-tough boyfriend was ticklish, and she made a silent vow to herself to exploit the fact whenever she could.

J.D squirmed in his seat, face beginning to go a little pink, making the smattering of freckles on his nose stand out, and it was almost too cute for her to handle, but then, he let a giggle slip out between his lips, and she could have just about died right there.

It wasn’t that J.D didn’t laugh; he laughed all the time, but it was almost always composed chuckles, never too loud or even a bit hysterical, and he certainly had never giggled in front of her before.

“Cut it out!” he said, but it didn’t sound very demanding.

Her fingers wiggled higher and wormed underneath his arm, close to the spot she’d originally brushed and made him jump on her quest to bum a smoke, and his laughter couldn’t stay contained anymore, proving to be more sensitive there than he had been his ribs.

“Admit that you’re ticklish, and maybe I will,” she teased, using her other hand to scribble over his knee, and his leg kicked out helplessly.

He shook his head, trying to get a grip on her hands and stop her, but she was too quick for him, and he seemed to lose quite a bit of both physical and mental agility when he was tickled, the sensation too distracting.

It was really fucking adorable.

She managed to get both her hands beneath his arms, and underneath his jacket too, so there was only a t-shirt between his skin and her nails, and his laugh had gone high-pitched and breathless, the color in his cheeks going from a soft flush of pink to red over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.

She could just about melt at the sight.

“Okay, okay! I’m ticklish, are you fuckin’ happy?!” he finally caved and spit out.

She stopped, although she could have spent another hour or so listening to that laugh. “This is the greatest discovery I’ve ever made,” she declared.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m never giving you a smoke again.”

She raised a brow at him, wiggling her fingers in his direction.

He flinched, holding a hand up in surrender. “Fine, fine! Now, are you gonna light that damn thing or what?”

The cigarette he’d given her, along with the lighter, had dropped into her lap at some point during their very one-sided tickle fight, and she popped it between her teeth, lit it, and passed him back his lighter, but not even nicotine could give her the same rush that his smile had.


End file.
